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Leaves rustled as a breeze blew through the stunted trees of the small neighborhood park, yellow and brittle as they prepared to fall under the onslaught of autumn. Parks at night always gave Detective Tim Drake a creepy vibe, probably because how the shadows never seemed to stay in one place, always moving, always changing. When he’d been a beat cop, he’d hated when his patrol route brought him through the area parks. He was a city boy, through and through.
The daytime wasn’t so bad, but when did he ever have a chance to come to a park and relax or have a picnic? His irregular schedule didn’t allow for it and Jason’s activities made the very thought laughable.
But none of this meant anything to the dead woman sprawled on the sidewalk. CSI had the scene lit up so there were no shadows, just the body in a light gray and purple hoodie and gym pants.
She’d been dressed for an evening jog, that much was clear, her brown hair pulled back in a pony tail and a pair of decently priced running shoes on her feet. She lay sprawled face down across the sidewalk, arms and legs wide like she’d been in mid stride.
It was entirely possible she was.
The call had come in not long after sundown, the time when all the crazy preferred to wake up for the night and stretch their legs. According to the responding officers, they’d received an anonymous report about a shooting and when they arrived, there was a second call from another person who’d been out walking her dog. The middle aged woman was sitting off to the side with one of the officers, answering questions as best she could, but from what Tim had gleaned, it wasn’t going to be of much use. She hadn’t been here in time to see anyone.
The anonymous call was more likely the one they’d need to track down if things didn’t pan out here.
“CSI has all their pictures,” Malloy was saying. His blonde hair appeared white under the fluorescent lights. “They’re ready to move her.”
Tim nodded and stood aside. There weren’t any clues as to what killed her from this angle, but the blood staining the sidewalk said the cause was likely on her front. Only the grotesque expression of fear etched on the woman’s face gave them the hint that it wasn’t natural.
“Holy shit,” Malloy breathed once the woman was rolled onto her back. The crime scene photographer moved in to do her job while the ME hung back.
The upper section of her torso and neck were peppered with tiny little wounds, clothing and skin shredded from impact. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but the surface damage to her skin was extensive. In his line of work, Tim was used to seeing strange things. It came with the badge. But this…this was new.
He knelt down next to the body when the photographer was done, hands already encased in disposable gloves, to get a closer look. Malloy did the same on the other side of the body.
The tiny wounds were all scattered, which was indicative of a shotgun shell, but still relatively clustered in one area. Or rather, two. There was a second wound just above the left clavicle that had torn into her neck. This appeared to be what had actually killed her. The shredded flesh was tinged black around the edges, probably from gunpowder.
“Someone really didn’t like her,” Tim stated. “Two shotgun blasts at what looks like close range. She didn’t have any time to react.”
“No, she didn’t.” Malloy rocked back on his heels. “Saw a case like this back in the `Haven once. A housewife got a hold of her husband’s shotgun and gave him the once over after she’d had enough of his shit. She was too far away to actually kill him, but the damage was extensive.”
“I suppose we’re lucky people prefer handguns to shotguns these days,” Tim commented. “Makes the forensics easier.”
Something in the woman’s hoodie caught his eye and he leaned in for a closer look.
“I can’t argue with that,” Malloy agreed with a slight frown. “What’re you doing, Rookie?”
Tim used a pair of tweezers to carefully peel away the outer layer of the woman’s hoodie and the t-shirt beneath to get a better view of one of the entrance wounds. Forensics would yell at him later, but it’s not like he wasn’t being careful. Besides, they already had all their pictures.
He probed the surface of the wound and held up something small and blood-smeared with his tweezers. “That’s not a pellet.”
His partner leaned in for a better look. “No. That’s most definitely not. It looks like…bone?”
Nodding, Tim gestured for the ME to join them. Alonso Nelson had been around the block a time or six, so there wasn’t much the man hadn’t seen. “What do you make of that?” he asked.
Nelson shook his head, heavy dreads swinging around his face from where the shorter ones had escaped his bandana. “Bone fragment,” he pronounced after a moment. “Maybe even a tooth.”
Malloy’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Who the hell shoots a person with shell full of teeth?”
“Someone who watches too much YouTube,” Nelson replied, taking his own tweezers out and probing at another wound. “I’ve seen this before. The theory is that bone or teeth become untraceable once it impacts with the body.”
“That’s a bunch of bullshit,” Tim stated. “The Mythbusters proved otherwise, even had a pathologist come out who ended up rebuilding the tooth that was on the head of the bullet they used to test it.”
Nelson chuckled low at that. “Well, this ain’t no bullet, Drake, but if we get her back to the morgue, I can tell ya by tomorrow afternoon if it’s a bone or a tooth.”
“Deal.”
~*~*~
Robbery did not appear to be the motive behind the shooting as the woman still had her ID, cell phone, and keys tucked away in a zippered pocket. Her name was Jennifer Fiore, age 29, with an address in the Upper East Side.
“What was she doing up here? New Town seems out of the way for an evening jog,” Tim commented as Malloy typed her name into the computer in their squad car.
“Could be visiting someone.” His partner seemed distant tonight, like he was distracted by something else. It seemed to be his new norm around him of late.
There were times when things were just fine, when Malloy laughed and teased him as he always did. But more often than not, Tim felt like Malloy was keeping his distance. He thought giving him some space would help, but it was getting to the point where he’d have to call him out on it. They were supposed to be partners, not this whatever the hell it was.
Perhaps Dick knew what was going on. Malloy had let slip that they had reconnected and met up a few times. Which, considering what Tim knew of both of their schedules, was a minor miracle, rather like him and Jason getting an actual date night.
“Probably,” Tim agreed quietly, because what else could he do? Now wasn’t the time or place to push about personal matters, not unless they got in the way of them doing their job.
A life was lost tonight. This was where his focus needed to be.
“Jennifer Fiore,” Malloy pronounced when the computer coughed up more details, “actually has her car registered to an address here in New Town. The one on her license is her previous one.”
“Next of kin?” Tim asked, trying not to shove his way over the center console to view the screen. This was why he hated driving. All the toys were kept away from him.
“A Michael Fiore has the same address. Given his age though, I’d say he’s her father rather than a spouse. There’s a brother too, Kevin, but he’s got a different address.”
Tim started the car. “What’s the dad’s address?”
Malloy rattled it off and Tim punched it into the GPS before pulling away from the curb. It wasn’t far and would have been an easy jog for someone wanting to get out for a brief run.
This part of the job always sucked. No one liked hearing that a loved one had been stolen away from them and Michael Fiore was no different when he answered the door to the townhouse. This part of New Town actually lived up to the name, with quiet residential streets made up of single family homes squished right on top of each other. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination, but as anyone could tell you, this was still Gotham and meant everything that entailed.
“She just went out for her jog a couple hours ago,” Michael Fiore was saying, his face almost as gray as his steely hair. They were sitting in the living room, with Tim on the loveseat with his notepad out while Malloy sat beside the grieving father on the couch. The townhouse was a true home given the lived in nature of it. Nature prints hung on the walls, but framed pictures of people Tim assumed was Jennifer and Kevin sat on an end table. “I knew she was late though. She’s never out this late. Doesn’t like being out after dark.”
It was almost half past eight. Tim and Malloy shared a meaningful glance, one that spoke volumes about the possible time of the murder. Someone had quite the stones to shoot another person in daylight where they could be seen. Even twilight was a risky proposition, assuming the victim was on her way out of the park. Tim checked his notes and found the first call had been received at 6:49 pm, not long after it would have been full on dark outside.
“Mr. Fiore, I know this is hard for you, but can you answer a few questions for us?” Tim asked patiently. Malloy always gave off the good cop/safe cop vibe in these situations and this time was no different, with the old man looking to him for reassurance before speaking up.
“I’ll do my best,” Fiore said haltingly, his voice stuttering a few times.
“Thank you,” Tim said and was about to start with their standard list of questions when there was a knock at the front door. A moment later, the squeaky deadbolt turned in the lock and a young man entered, looking almost like a clone of the man sitting across from him, but with a head full of dark brown hair.
“Dad? I stopped by a few of the places I know Jen likes, including that coffeeshop…” the man started to say, then stopped as he took in the scene before him. “Dad, what’s going on? Who are these guys?”
Malloy and Tim both stood and showed their badges, just as they’d done earlier to the disbelieving father. “I’m Detective Gannon Malloy and this is my partner Detective Tim Drake of the GCPD. We’re here about Jennifer Fiore.”
“Kev,” the older Fiore man said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Come here and sit down. There’s been…there’s been…” he trailed off, unable to say the words.
But rather than sit, Kevin balled his hands up into fists and his face clouded with rage. “That goddamned piece of shit. What did he do to my sister?”
Well, this was unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcomed. Tim held up a soothing hand as Malloy resumed his seat. “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fiore, but your sister has been murdered. Do you think you could tell me who you believe may have been behind this?”
Kevin Fiore deflated as soon as Tim’s words sank in, tears welling up in his eyes even if his fists didn’t relax in the slightest. “Eric Santini. Jen’s ex-boyfriend. She and the fucker used to live together until recently. I helped her pack and move back in here with Dad.”
“And when was this?” Tim asked calmly, taking notes as he did.
“A couple months ago,” Fiore said, speaking up. “We thought Eric was a nice guy. He treated our Jen right.”
“What happened?” Malloy spoke up as Kevin rounded the coffee table and took a seat beside his father.
“He hit her,” Kevin spat out, shaking his head. “Broke her damned cheekbone.”
Tim bit back a wince. Domestic abuse cases were one of the most common calls he’d made when he was still patrolling the streets. Some of the things he’d seen made him glad that there was such a thing as vigilante justice in this city, but much more often, he and his partner would just try to get the victim to leave, to take the kids and go to a shelter. All too often though, they would stay.
Apparently, Jennifer Fiore was one who’d chosen to leave.
“Has this Santini guy tried to get in contact with Ms. Fiore since she left him?” Tim asked, trying to keep things moving along.
The older Fiore looked to his son who just shrugged. “Jen mentioned a few calls where he just screamed at her, called her names, and made some vague threats, but after a while, she let them go to voicemail. We didn’t think he could do anything since Jen did file a police report about what happened to her.”
Tim made a note to look that report up. It would be useful in establishing probable cause. “Did your sister save these messages? Was there a restraining order issued?”
Kevin nodded. “Yeah, she had one. Eric tried to follow her in here one time and Dad had to threaten to call the police if he didn’t leave. He was also harassing her at work. Jen got a new cell phone and changed the number, but she kept the old one.”
“Sounds like a real piece of work,” Malloy commented, giving Tim a moment to jot down his notes. “Mr. Fiore, you said before that Santini seemed like a nice guy. How long were they together?”
The older Fiore sniffed, eyes red from his tears. “Almost two years. Everything seemed fine until Jen called me from the hospital that night.”
“No history of abuse until then?” Tim asked, caught up with his notes.
Kevin took his father’s hand and held it firmly. “No. Jen said they’d gotten into a fight about money and Eric’s spending habits. That’s when he hit her. But he really went off his rocker when Jen left him. We got most of her stuff out while he was at work, but he must have gotten off early that day and confronted us on the last trip. Said all kinds of strange things, like Jen was his soulmate and that they were destined to be together one minute, then he was cussing and swearing up a storm the next, saying Jen was a cheating whore who only liked to fuck her…” he trailed off, glancing at his dad.
“I remember that,” Fiore said. “I was in the truck, remember?”
“Brother,” Kevin finished, fisting his hands over the worn denim of his jeans. “I’ve never wanted to hit someone so badly in my life. To this day, I still want to knock Eric’s fucking perfect teeth right out of his goddamned mouth.”
Teeth. That reminded Tim of something Nelson had said earlier. “Tell me, what does Eric Santini do for a living?”
~*~*~
“A dental hygienist,” Malloy said flatly, shaking his head in disgust as Tim drove across the Sprang River and into the Upper East Side. “Well, if someone is going to have access to human teeth, that would be the place for it.”
“Not to mention he likes to go skeet shooting. He’s got the weapon, and he’s got a motive.”
“Yeah, but what made him crack after all this time? It’s been two months since Fiore left him.”
Tim frowned, both at the traffic at this time of night and at the question. “I wonder if she started seeing someone new and Santini got wind of it.”
“Definitely a possibility. We’ll find out when we take a look at that original cell phone, the one the brother said she still had. It would not surprise me if our motive is right there in plain sight.”
“What do you make of the whole customized shotgun shells aspect of this case?” Tim asked, glancing over at his partner. The passing streetlights cast his face in shadow one heartbeat and illuminated it the next.
“It’s over the top,” Malloy stated flatly. “But this is Gotham, so I guess it’s par for the course. We’ve got more costumed crazies than we know what to do with.”
“Santini doesn’t wear a costume,” Tim said, feeling like he should point this out.
“No, but that makes him all the scarier for it. With the costumed freaks, you know what schtick you’re gonna get. It’s the ones without the masks that concern me more.”
Tim couldn’t argue with that.
Eric Santini still lived in the same apartment that he’d shared with his ex-girlfriend. The building itself wasn’t exactly the greatest, but it wasn’t the worst either. Tim was happy the elevator worked, even if it was slow.
As they approached their suspect’s door, the detectives fell into their usual routine, one that made Tim glad to see they were still capable of even with the tension between them. This was two cops working like the well-greased pair they were, Malloy flanking him as Tim paused to listen before knocking on the door. A TV was on inside, but it was the only noise he heard. That didn’t mean anything. Plenty of people left it on while they were out.
“Eric Santini, this is the GCPD,” he called out as he knocked. “We’ve got a few questions we’d like to ask you.”
No change from inside the apartment. Malloy nodded grimly, his hand at his shoulder ready to draw his gun if needed. There was no telling what they were about to walk into and both detectives had opted to put on their Kevlar before entering the building.
Tim tried again. He really didn’t want to have to come back with a search warrant tomorrow. It gave Santini too much time to dispose of possible evidence.
This time, there was a muffled thunk and a curse.
Bingo. “Santini, I know you’re in there!” Tim said. “Open up! We just want to talk to you about Jennifer Fiore.”
The deadbolt slowly turned, and the door opened to reveal a man clad only in his underwear. A cloud of alcohol fumes greeted Tim and he had to resist the urge to take a step back from the strength of it. Haggard didn’t even begin to describe the guy. His olive skin had a sallow cast to it and there was definitely at least three or four days worth of a beard that needed to be shaved.
“Are you Eric Santini?” Tim asked firmly, flashing his badge. “I’m Detective Tim Drake and this is my partner Detective Gannon Malloy. We have a few questions for you about Jennifer Fiore.”
At his words, the man broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing.
Malloy tapped Tim on the shoulder and pointed. “Look at that.”
The apartment was fairly well put together for a man who’d gone over the deep end, like he’d been under the impression that if he kept it neat and clean, he’d be forgiven his trespasses. Santini didn’t exactly fit the typical profile of a domestic abuser, but then again, nothing about this homicide was exactly normal.
On the dining table rested a pump-action shotgun, a number of empty shell casings, and a small jar of teeth.
“Well, I don’t think we can get better evidence than that.” Tim shifted his gaze down to the floor. “Santini, how about we get some clothes on you and you take a ride with us down to the station?”
~*~*~
Santini was so far into his bender that there was no way they could get a coherent statement from him. He was placed in lock-up overnight to sleep it off and Tim and Malloy returned to the apartment with a few more officers and a CSI tech to collect evidence.
There was plenty of it, including a cell phone with numerous messages sent to the deceased, including ones that he’d sent after the fact apologizing for what he’d done and trying to justify why he did it.
Apparently, Jennifer Fiore had been moving on with her life and it was more than Santini could take.
It was after midnight when Tim arrived home, tired, but still managing to feel accomplished. It had been a good night.
Something spicy was in the air and he turned his attention to the kitchen where Jason was setting up dinner. On the table beside their plates sat an enormous orange cat that Tim was still convinced would smother him in his sleep one day. Why he got stuck with Jason’s new pet was beyond him. “Is that Thai?” he asked, kicking off his shoes.
“Yeah. Heard on the scanner tonight that you fought the good fight and won. Thought you’d want to celebrate.”
Tim grinned and locked the door behind him. “We did. Perp killed his ex-girlfriend with modified shotgun shells that he’d loaded with fragments of broken teeth.”
Jason set down the takeout box. “You’re fuckin’ with me.”
“No joke.” Tim headed over to the sink to wash his hands. “The blast pulverized most of them, but it looks like he was at such a close range that a few pieces got lucky and did what they were supposed to. Autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning, so we’ll know for sure which piece actually killed her. My guess is one managed to nick the carotid in the victim’s throat.”
“What a way to go.” Jason shook his head. “Seriously, the shit that goes on in this town still manages to surprise me sometimes.”
“Right?” Tim dried off and strode over to the table, wrapping his arms around Jason’s trim waist and resting his chin on a broad shoulder. “How was your night?”
“Not as interesting as yours. I set up surveillance on Steve Purcell. He was released from Blackgate this afternoon.”
It took Tim a moment to place the name and when he did, he nodded in agreement. “Good. He should have checked in with his parole officer already.”
Jason nodded and turned his head to give Tim an awkward kiss. “He did. For now, he’s setting up shop at his parent’s place.”
“I’d make a joke about the typical millennial, but he’s almost Bruce’s age.”
“Never too late to return to the nest.” Jason unwound Tim’s arms and they took their seats at the table to eat, Nicodemus making little chirping meows when all he was given was some plain rice.
After dinner, Tim showered and changed for bed. Jason didn’t make any move to join him, so it looked like this was one of those nights where he wasn’t planning to stay over. That was fine, they weren’t joined at the hip.
Still, Jason didn’t seem to mind when Tim curled up next to him on the sofa and snagged his afghan to tuck over his legs. The cat cuddled on the other side of Jason’s head, purring loudly. He clearly preferred Jason over Tim, which was fine with him.
Not for the first time, he wondered what Teekl would think of his new housemate the next time Klarion dropped him off. The different scenarios he came up with amused him greatly.
“What are you thinking about?” Tim asked after the silence dragged on.
Jason shrugged. “Purcell. Still not sure what to make of him. He’s a skinny, twitchy kind of guy. Good with numbers from what I hear, so I doubt he’ll be out of work for long.”
“Someone who cooks the books?”
“Yeah. That’s not what worries me though. He was on Schumacher’s list for a reason, but I’ll be damned if I can find even a rumor of it.”
That was concerning, and it made Tim sit up so he could discuss it better. “How long have you been working on this?”
“Since you went back to work.”
It had been a month since Tim’s forced vacation was over. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t seem like something to talk about since the guy wasn’t even out of prison yet,” Jason retorted defensively. “Besides, this kind of thing is more my kind of work than yours. Unless you’re blurring lines again?”
Tim shook his head. “No, you’re right. It’s too easy to forget sometimes that you’re a trained detective rather than the brawler everyone believes you to be.”
“I wear many hats,” Jason said, still not looking happy.
What was it with the men in his life tonight, Tim wondered. Nothing he said or did seemed to make any difference in improving their moods. Not that he expected to be a cure all, but he’s pretty sure he hadn’t put his foot in it and pissed them off somehow.
“Is there something else going on?” Tim finally asked. “Or did I fuck up somewhere?”
“A little bit of both?” Jason replied after a moment, stewing on what he wanted to say. “I may not be quite the detective you are, but I still get the job done. I get enough shit about it from the rest of my damned family that I don’t need you rubbing my nose in it too.”
Okay, so maybe he did.
“Jason, you’re one of the smartest people I know. I’m sorry if I made you think I believed otherwise.”
Sighing hard, Jason reached out and hauled Tim over so that he was resting squarely against his chest, their faces mere inches apart. “Sometimes I think we should just say fuck you to everything and take over the city. We could totally do it if we wanted to.”
Tim chuckled as he shifted into a more comfortable position, one that didn’t involve a gun holster digging into his thigh. “We could, but what would we do then? Turn Gotham back into a no-man’s land? Set up our own little city-state? Might as well take over the world. Then there would be no one to stop us.”
Jason blinked incredulously. “You are one fuckin’ piece of work, you know that, stalker?”
“I’m a gift.”
Things appeared to be back on the right track because Jason snorted in laughter, his entire body shaking as he tried to suppress it. “Christ, Timmers. Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking or if you’re serious.”
Tim drew closer and pressed his lips against Jason’s. “Just remember that what we have goes in both directions. You help me, I help you. I’ll keep my nose out of Purcell’s business, but keep me up to date, yeah? I kinda have a vested interest in that guy.”
Jason returned the kiss, heat growing between them as they wrestled for dominance. “I will,” he promised. “Now take off your pants. I think I’m gonna stay the night after all.”